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I think of Lottie, then the Quinns.
My family isn’t the one I was born into, and they are far from conventional, but I wouldn’t change them for the world.
* * *
“Holy shit.”
Lottie grins under the shower of my attention, twirling a full circle for maximum effect.
Her dress is as beautiful as her. Silver sparkles cling to every curve of her body, plunging down at the neckline and revealing her tanned thigh with a daring split. I cross the kitchen and snake my arm around her hip, instantly feeling my cock stiffen against my pants. “I think we can afford to be an hour or so late…” I murmur into her ear, nibbling at her lobe.
She bucks under me, laughing. “No,” she says, slapping her hand against my chest, “You can’t be late for your first ball. You’re a boss now, remember?”
I grunt, still greedily taking her in. Her black hair falls in big curls around her shoulders. Those fuck-me lips painted red, bringing out the sea-green color of her eyes. “And your first ball as a boss’s girlfriend.”
Nerves flash across her face and she smooths down the waist of her dress. “I’m going to stick out like a sore thumb.” She busies herself with straightening my bowtie, picking a speck of lint off my tuxedo.
I tilt her head up with two fingers under her chin. “Yes you will, because you’ll be the most beautiful woman there.”
She grins. “Don’t tell Poppy that.”
An hour later, my driver slows the Rolls Royce to a stop outsideGatsby’s, Boston’s most exclusive restaurant. The sign twinkles above the door, the red carpet as thick as the security surrounding the entrance. I shake hands and make small talk with several of the henchmen guarding the doors—some I’ve known since I was fourteen, others are newer to Donnacha’s detail, and have helped me get on my feet in Philly over the last year. Lorcan appears at the door to greet us, sparkling water in hand. He stoops to kiss Lottie on her cheek, and offers me a firm handshake before his face splits into a grin and he drags me in for a hug.
“I can’t tell you how happy I am that you’re here,” he says, clapping me on the back. “Come.”
We bypass the body scanners and walk into the main dining room ofGatsby’s.Besides me, Lottie draws in a deep breath. When I look down, her eyes are shimmering with awe. “This place is incredible.”
It is. The restaurant is flowing with chatter and champagne, a tide of suits and ball gowns shimmering under the chandeliers. Round dining tables line the dance floor, each punctuated with a Tiffany lamp and silverware. On the stage at the back, a brass band plays upbeat swing, the sound of the trumpets vibrating through the room.
Right on cue, Poppy emerges from the crowd, looking radiant in a sweeping red gown. I recognize the girl beside her—Miguel Rodriguez’s sister, Nova. Her strappy black dress is toughened up with a pair of combat boots, but her smile contrasts her tough look.
“Cill! Dahlia!” Poppy drawls, air-kissing us both. I smell the Moet on her breath and flash her a smirk. Then she slaps a palm to her forehead. “I mean Lottie! I’m so sorry!”
Lottie laughs. “Don’t worry about it. Even this one slips up sometimes,” she says, cocking her head in my direction.
“First night off?”
She raises her flute at me, then swipes one off the tray of a passing waitress and hands it to Lottie. “Yes, and I intend to get blackout drunk and tell your lovely girlfriend all of your secrets.” She flashes me a wonky wink and drains her glass, before turning back to Lottie. “We’re so glad you could make it!” Nodding to Nova, she adds, “This is Nova, the only other woman here that you won’t want to stab with a butter knife.”
Lottie laughs. It’s light and airy and instantly relaxes me.
“No seriously,” Nova says, wiggling her eyebrows. “Wait until you meet Vittoria. You’ll want to fly-kick her into next week.”
Beside me, Lorcan groans. “What is she doing here? Alessandro is dead. She couldn’t have found another husband already.”
“She’s managed to wrangle her way into Chavez’s bed,” Poppy says, rolling her eyes. “Anyways,” she tucks her clutch bag under her armpit and reaches for Lottie’s hand. “You come with me.” Then, she turns to me and adds, “I’ll take good care of your girl, pinky promise.”
“You better.” I squeeze Lottie’s free hand and plant a kiss on her cheek. “Have fun.” She’s already grinning, no trace of nerves left in her sea-glass eyes. “I’ll see you at dinner.”
Just before they disappear into the crowd, Poppy glances over her shoulder and stabs a manicured finger in my direction. “Oh, and don’t forget, I want your accounts on my desk on Monday, otherwise I won’t have time to sift through them.”
I salute her. “Yes, Boss.” When I turn around, Lorcan places a glass ofThe Smugglers Clubin my hand. “You should send Poppy down to The Tunnels. Her barking numbers at you is worse than water torture.”
He laughs, sips his water. “Not a bad idea. Sometimes, when she’s shouting at me about our accounts, I wish I still drank. Anyway, you ready?”
I groan. “As I’ll ever be.”
He claps me on the back and we stride through the crowd, making our way to the drawing-room at the back of the restaurant. The sudden quiet makes my ears ring, and the thick cigar smoke swirls like lazy tornados in the hand. Donnacha steps through it, looking sharp in a tuxedo, and shakes my hand. “There he is. Ready to take a seat at the round table?”
